Koa wasn’t about to be bullied by the former newspaper reporter. “Then explain to me how a government employee approves a big-ticket bill for thousands of yards of concrete without knowing what it’s for or why it’s needed.”
“You’re guessing,” Watanabe accused.
There was no convincing Watanabe, but Koa could see from Inaba’s face that he understood. “Moreover, as I told Mayor Tanaka, somebody killed Hank Boyle, the general contractor—”
“I hear he hanged himself,” Watanabe interrupted. “Probably felt guilty ’cause his school snuffed a bunch of first-graders.”
Watanabe’s callous attitude appalled Koa. “That’s what the killer wanted you to think,” Koa said. “And it doesn’t explain why his KonaWili file went missing.”
Watanabe wouldn’t give up. “That’s just your opinion.”
“It’s backed up by the ME’s opinion,” Koa responded.
“Shizuo’s opinion?” Watanabe said. “That’s not worth a pair of twos.”
“As a matter of fact, we brought in Anne Ka‘au, the Honolulu ME. She called it murder, not suicide. There’s no doubt.”
“Jesus, we’re screwed,” Inaba said.
Watanabe pointed a bony finger straight at Koa. “Not if the police call it an act of God and halt their investigation. They can treat the Boyle thing as a separate matter.”
Koa locked eyes with Watanabe. The man was a viper—as black as the mole on his face. “That’s not going to happen,” Koa said calmly.
“Maybe we need a new chief detective,” Watanabe threatened.
“That’s enough, Tomi,” Mayor Tanaka ordered. “We’ll sit tight until this thing sorts itself out.”
Mayor Tanaka turned to Koa. “Listen, Detective, you’re the lead on this investigation. This thing happened in my county, and I’m not about to let the governor snatch control to protect his sorry ass. You and the county prosecutor coordinate with the state AG, but we’re going to control the investigation. You understand?”
Tanaka’s orders surprised Koa. Given the state control of the education system, he’d expected the governor to take over the investigation. Seeing the determination in Tanaka’s eyes, Koa realized he hadn’t fully appreciated the antipathy between the mayor and the governor. Tanaka obviously planned to use the investigation to embarrass his rival. “Yes, sir. I understand,” Koa responded even though he wasn’t sure he did.
“You need to clamp a lid on this thing before it blows. I’m looking to you to get to the bottom of it. Fast. You understand me, Detective?”
“Yes, sir,” Koa responded.
“And one more thing, Detective.” The mayor’s dark eyes bored into Koa. “You don’t talk to reporters. Watanabe will handle the press.”
“Yes, sir.”
Koa left the mayor’s office with mixed feelings. He wanted Chief Lannua back to deal with the obnoxious political animals in the mayor’s office. But mostly, he felt intense time pressure. He had a window to investigate, but he wasn’t naïve. Political pressure would rise, like the steam clouds from the crippled school, and unless he got to the bottom of this complex conspiracy, there’d be volcanic political fireworks.
CHAPTER NINE
DESPITE TWO TRIPS to the KonaWili school, Koa hadn’t mastered the crime scene. He’d focused on the rescue operations, checking out the building with the robot, and turning back the mob of angry citizens. The stormy weather hadn’t helped. He needed a feel for the land purchased by the Hualālai Hui development. He worked best when he could absorb the feel of a crime scene in context. And he needed an expert guide, like Richard Tatum, the USGS volcanologist, who’d briefed the governor and mayor. He called the geologist.
“Richard, I’m taking a police chopper for a look around KonaWili. Any chance you can come along and bring any old maps or photos from the USGS files?”
Tatum proved eager. “I’m in. Just tell me when.”
When they met at the Hilo airport to board the police chopper, Tatum had a gleam in his eye. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” He patted the leather carrying case he’d brought with him.
Koa, tired of surprises, asked, “What?”
“Wait until we get our boots on the mountain.”
From the air, Koa studied the western slope of Hualālai, an 8,271-foot volcano. The KonaWili development formed a triangle with its apex about 5000 feet above sea level and its base along Māmalahoa Highway at 2000 feet. A line of cinder cones marked the southern boundary and a barren lava flow the northern edge. The dead school, still emitting nasty yellow smoke, sat near the top of the development.
Tatum pointed to the cinder cones lined up and down the Hualālai slope to the south. “See that line of cinder cones? They mark the northwest rift zone, where gravity cracked the side of the volcano allowing lava to vent before reaching the summit.”
Dozens of cinder cones, blackish chocolate brown hillocks, ran in a narrow zigzag pattern. “Each cone represents an eruption?” Koa asked.
“That’s right,” Tatum responded. “Geologists figure Hualālai is about 300,000 years old and has become a late-stage volcano. Eruptions from the top built the large shield shape of the mountain. Then, the eruptions shifted to those cinder cones—like pumice pimples on the side of the mountain.”
Koa turned to the other side of the chopper and pointed to the sweeping band of ebony lava extending from just above the apex of the triangle down its northern border to the sea. “That’s the 1801 flow?”
“That’s part of it,” Tatum responded “That’s the Ka‘ūpūlehu flow, but 1801 is just an approximate date. We’ve found twenty-three historical references to eruptions with dates ranging from 1774 to 1811—might even have been multiple eruptions during that period. We chose 1800–01 as a proxy date based on geologic testing.”
“And the other part of the 1801 flow?”
Tatum pointed farther down the slope to bands of rust and black lava extending from the bottom southwest corner of the triangle to Keāhole airport on the coast. “There’s the other portion of the 1801 eruption, called the Hu‘ehu‘e flow—the part that did the most damage.”
“Damage?” Koa asked.
“Yeah. Covered Pā‘aiea, one of King Kamehameha’s most valuable fish ponds. Historical accounts say the pond was three miles long and half a mile wide. Its loss marked a true disaster for the early Hawaiians.”
“Wow, that’s a lot bigger than the ponds at Mauna Lani.”
“Yeah, and there’s a legend about the Hu‘ehu‘e flow. Old native storytellers say King Kamehameha stopped the lava by throwing a lock of his hair into the river of burning rock.”
“Too bad he wasn’t around to save the KonaWili kids.”
“Yeah,” Tatum agreed.
“So KonaWili wasn’t the first Hualālai disaster,” Koa mused.
“And it won’t be the last.” Tatum pointed to the town of Kona, sitting south of the Hu‘ehu‘e lava flow. “Almost forty thousand people live in a high threat eruption zone.”